


Good nice person

by Dareandwriteit



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Blindness, Disabled Character, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 21:51:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11322453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dareandwriteit/pseuds/Dareandwriteit
Summary: Angus gets an emergency call about a man he might know called Magnus.





	Good nice person

**Author's Note:**

  * For [petalSpitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalSpitter/gifts), [goodnicepeople](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodnicepeople/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Gamble (And Afterwards)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196165) by [petalSpitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/petalSpitter/pseuds/petalSpitter). 



Magnus was a good, nice person. This was a fact. It was part of him, the same way his battle scars and his thick fingers and heavy brow were. He was a pranker, even a little of a bully at times, but it was never in earnest. It was almost always ended with a honest question framed as a joke, “are you ok” or “was that too much”. Magnus was a good, nice person. It was one of the things Angus loved about him. It was also Magnus’ biggest flaw.

Angus had gotten the call on the job. Middle of a case, a time when he would never answer calls normally. He didn’t know what made him do so this time. Maybe part of him just knew.

It was a long journey down to the inn. Angus went over and over the call in his mind, every pause and change in cadence etched into his mind with total clarity. There’d been an accident. A serious one: a building had some barrels of fireworks inadvertently light, and it damaged the supports several rooms. Did Angus know a man by the name of Magnus Burnsides, who had been caught in the collapse?

He did. And for a horrible second Angus wished he didn’t.

People had died. People were still dying. People were injured.

Angus hated to think of Magnus as any of them.

Why hadn’t he called Taako? Or Merle? What was so wrong that Magnus had chosen him as his contact? Merle had medical training. Taako knew Magnus far better than anyone else. What did he want from Angus? What did he want Angus to do? What if he couldn’t do it?

Angus had a backpack with him. He’d packed it as soon as he’d gotten the call. He began by throwing useful items in: a pouch full of gold, a few healing potions, a slice of bread. Then some books, some pencils, some paper. A clock, a pillow, some cards. Angus was just throwing everything his hands brushed over into the bag. It was a fretful thoughtfulness, a panic that settled in his chest that screamed _what if Magnus needs this?_

Angus dragged the bag behind him as he approached the inn. It was too heavy to keep on his back. The Snoring Dragon was simple looking tavern, the front steps worn down by dozens of entering feet over many years. The sign hung at an angle, and creaked gently in the breeze. Angus stood on the stoop, straps of his bag biting into his hand.

He didn’t want to go in. All the time he was outside the door, whatever was happening inside wasn’t happening. He didn’t have to deal with it just yet.

The door swung open. A young tiefling woman was behind it, and she jumped in surprise at the sight of Angus. Angus quickly took off his cap.

“Oh! Excuse me my dear, I’m just waiting for someone. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anyone else on the road out here?”

Angus shook his head, suddenly tongue tied. The woman peered around him, checking the empty road. She sighed.

“You might as well come in darlin’. We’re a little tight for space at the minute, I hope you understand. There was an accident down at the market, some real horrible stuff, and we’ve been taking in some of the injured.”

“That’s why I’m here ma’am.” Angus said, wiping his feet neatly on the door mat. He held out a hand to shake. “I’m Angus McDonald, I’m here for-”

“The big fellow right?” The woman interrupted, shaking Angus’ hand with a confused expression. “The one with the… uh…” She drew a line over her eye with a finger, a scar which Angus knew could only be Magnus’. He nodded strongly, and went to step through the door. The woman placed a hand on Angus’ chest to stop him.

“Don’cha have an adult or somethin’ with ya? This ain’t ‘xactly for kids.”

“I know,” Angus said with complete seriousness, “but I’m here. I… I don’t think he should be alone.”

The woman seemed to consider this for a moment. Then she stepped aside, allowing Angus to walk through the door. She took his hat and placed it on a coat hook far above his head. Then she rifled through her apron pocket to find a key.

“Stay close.”

She led Angus by the hand up the stairs. The inn groaned, echoing its many tenants. Angus tried to ignore the spots of blood scattered up the steps. He was glad of the hand he was holding. 

They came to a door at the end of corridor, and the woman put the key in the lock. She turned it with a decisive click.

Then a pause.

“Are you ready?”

Angus wasn’t. He nodded anyway.

“If you need me, call for Bertha. I’ll be right downstairs darlin’.” Bertha gave Angus a reassuring pat on the back, and opened the door for him.

Angus felt his breath catch. The room was small, and simple in extreme. There was a rickety wooden chair in one corner, and moth eaten curtains letting speckles of sunlight into the room. There was a bed. In the bed, the blankets rising and falling with his laboured breaths, was Magnus.

Angus was rooted to the spot. Bertha seemed to notice, and gave a gentle knock on the door. 

“Mr Burnsides? Your son is here.” Bertha said. Magnus woke with snort, and some vague noise of confusion, which Angus quickly met with the most cheerful greeting he could muster.

“Hello Sir.”

Magnus panicked. He rolled onto his side, keeping his back to Angus. The blankets were still piled over him.

“How’d you get here?” Magnus asked from beneath the blankets.

“They… uh, they called me. They said you got hurt.”

“I didn’t tell them to do that.” 

Angus was hurt, just for a second. “I’m afraid that they did it anyway, Sir.”

“Well, they overreacted Ango, it’s just a flesh wound. I’ll be back on the base before ya know it. You go ahead and I’ll catch up.”

Angus shot a worried look at Bertha, who had a firm expression on her face. She gave Angus an enouraging push, and walked out of the room, gently closing the door.

“I’d rather wait with you, if that’s alright.” Angus said taking a step closer.

“I’m really fine Angus. Please go.”

“I want to help.” Angus said walking closer to the bed.

“Angus, I’m serious. Go home.” Magnus’ voice was harsh.

“No.” Angus said, as pulled the blanket from Magnus, ever so slowly.

“Go!” Magnus yelled.

Angus, despite himself, flinched. He hated it, an instinct left over from many years ago. He’d gotten so much better. But some things just stay with you, lodged somewhere beneath your skin that you can’t even see. Magnus hated it too, and would always flinch in reaction. An instinct of his own that he couldn’t shift.

Except for today. There was no reaction. None at all.

The injuries were apparent in several places. Large gauze patches were placed across his forearms and shoulders. There were dozens of scars, though most were from long before this particular fight. His face was a raw pink in places, singed from errant sparks. But most noticeable were his eyes.

The scar over his eye, usually so faded that it was almost invisible, was a vicious red. Angus would have assumed it was an open cut, if not for the fact he didn’t seem to bleeding. But it was not this, or the soreness of his face, that concerned Angus. 

Magnus was looking right ahead. His eyes were not drawn to Angus, instead seeming to stare directly through Angus’ left shoulder. Angus hesitantly pulled on the curtain near the bed, allowing sunlight to flow into the room. Angus winced as his eyes adjusted. Magnus didn’t.

“Why won’t you look at me Sir?” Angus asked quietly.

Magnus sat up in bed with a groan, and struggled to answer.

“Oh shoot, Ango, I didn’t want you… I mean I didn’t mean to… I was just trying to protect them.” Magnus ended lamely, trying to face Angus. His view was still off by a few degrees.

“Is it something I did? I-I-I didn’t know what to bring, and I know I could’ve got here sooner, but I was just so panicked about it all, and I didn’t know if I should tell anyone-”

“Hey, shhh, shhh, shhh.” Magnus reached out an unsure hand, placing his palm over Angus’ face after a few seconds of grabbing at the air. “Shut up, dingus.”

Angus’ short burst of laughter was muffled by Magnus’ palm. He moved Magnus’ palm to his shoulder.

“This ain’t no-one’s fault but mine. I was getting people out, some asshole threw a cigarette into some crappy old warehouse and the whole thing went up. I got a couple people out before the fireworks lit. Who the fuck keeps _barrells_ of fireworks? And then it got real bright. And then I woke up here. Been blind ever since then, so they tell me.”

Angus locked eyes with Magnus. He wished that Magnus could do the same.

“It was only a matter of time, if ya think about it.” Magnus said absently.

“Sir?”

“Well… We’ve done a lot of dumb shit. Selfish. Even lethal. Between Phandolin, and Ravens Roost and a million other things… If it had to happen to anyone, it should’ve been me.”

Angus grabbed Magnus’ hand hard, much harder than he meant to.

“Don’t you say that. This isn’t a punishment! Sure, you’ve made some real bad messes and made some mean goofs, but this isn’t _about_ that.”

“How isn’t this a punishment Ango? I can’t fight, or protect, or carve like this. I can’t do a thing, who the hell am I supposed to be? ‘Cos it’s sure as hell not gonna be me.”

Angus pulled Magnus’ hand, moving it with some difficulty. Soon it’s fingers were buried in Angus’ thick curly hair, running over a long scar that had long since been hidden.

“What is-”

“When I was a little boy, even littler than I am now, I got a concussion. It was a bad one, I got very, very sick. I had headaches, and I couldn’t see for a few days, and I was throwing up a whole lot.” Angus could see Magnus beginning to interrupt, but he didn’t let him. “It doesn’t matter how it happened. It just did. And they thought I was gonna… not be alright. That I would be as smart, or I’d have some problems seeing, or just be a very mixed up boy.”

Angus took a deep breath, trying to ignore the spikes of goosebumps along his arms and back at the feeling of someone touching the scar. He didn’t like to think about how it happened. It wasn’t like it was going to get any better now for thinking about it. But there was something reassuring about Magnus’ gentle strokes through his hair.

“And it was hard. Still is sometimes, with my messed up peepers. But… I’m still me. And you’re still going to be you. Without the carving, and the fighting, and the defense, you’re still gonna be Magnus.”

“And who’s that then?”

Angus thought for a moment. Then he went and sat beside Magnus on the bed, resting his head against Magnus’ chest.

“A good, nice person.” Angus said, with total sincerity.

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe I'll continue this? It depends.
> 
> Please give me an advice on discussing blindness if you find any issues with my representation. I am myself disabled but could never assume to speak for a different group.
> 
> (As I see it, right now, Magnus will recover eventually. His sight is never perfect, it's likely he'll end up with glasses in the end.)
> 
> Thanks to petalSpitter and goodnicepeople for two very separate veins of inspiration: this is a crossover no-one expected.


End file.
